Shiver
by Clarice Starling
Summary: COMPLETE!!FINAL CHAPTER UP!Clarice is now at a last chance to remain in the FBI.Will she take the unltimate chance and let herself be lead into the arms of a madman?And will she have a rude awakening?
1. Default Chapter

~As usual, I didn't make the characters (with the exception of the new one I'm adding in chapter two.) I'm not making any money off of this, so don't sue me! Please R&R and tell me what you think! Thanks! ~  
  
  
  
Clarice woke up with a jolt, sitting strait up in bed. She was covered with cold sweat, and she was breathing heavily. She looked around, her eyes searching her bedroom completely before she allowed herself to relax a little. She took a few deep breaths and slid up, sitting back against the cool, wooden headboard of her bed. Her eyes fluttered shut as she recalled the last sexual images in her mind. She'd been having these dreams for months now. It was no longer the lambs that woke her in the night. It was him. Hannibal Lecter. She felt tingle as she thought of his body, and his touch. She couldn't tell if it was of pure hatred or just plain loathing. She slid down a bit into the sheets. She looked at the clock from the corner of her eye. It was only two thirty. She was about to turn her head and slide back down into the covers, hoping to get a little more sleep before her alarm went off at six thirty, when something caught her eye.  
  
She shifted a little, deciding weather or not to get up and check it out. She did. She drew the covers back, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare legs and feet hit the cold air, and chills ran up her spine. She shivered. She let her feet onto the hardwood floor of her bedroom, standing and steadying herself, trying to wipe the last shred of sleepy daze from her vision. She walked over to her dresser, carefully eyeing every little detail. That's when her eyes came to rest upon it. An envelope. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Had this been here before? She couldn't decide. She picked it up slowly, and walked back over to her bed, propping herself on the edge just by her lamp. She reached over with one hand and clicked it on. "Shit…". Almost instantly the letter fell out of her hands. A single word, written in very fine writing was etched on the front. "Clarice." It said.  
  
She picked it up, looking it over once more. She didn't care about getting her prints on it. She already knew who it was from, and knew he wasn't so dumb as to actually leave a clue. Or was he? What was that scent? She lifted the envelope to her nose, taking in the smell. It was a faint trace of something. Something sweet. She allowed herself to smile a little. She turned the envelope over and grabbed her letter opener, getting back under the covers and sitting the now open letter in her lap to read it. It said :  
  
Dear Clarice,  
  
I do apologize for my unwelcome invasion of your privacy while you slept. You're very lovely when you sleep. I do hope you like the perfume, I chose it just for you. You'll find out soon enough that my plans for you are trustworthy, I can assure you that. Still out to make daddy proud, Clarice? Still trying to find me? Well, Clarice, such a pity you didn't simply open your eyes only a few moments ago. I've noticed you looking about when you walk down the streets, Clarice. I know how horrible it must be, to have that one shred of hope left, the hope that you might be able to please your father in his grave. Tah tha for now.  
  
Your old pal,  
  
Hannibal Lecter M.D.  
  
Clarice closed the letter and cursed herself for not waking up. He'd been in her house and she'd slept right through it! She didn't realize she was smiling, or she would have slapped herself across the face. He did this to her, she realized. He put her in some sort of haze. She raised a hand to her lips, recalling the kiss. 'Knock it off, Starling! Forget it! You have to call this in!' She shook her head slightly and put the letter on her nightstand beside her clock. 'Maybe tomorrow…' she answered herself in her mind. It was now three o'clock. She slid down under her sheets, and tried to go to sleep. Finally, around three thirty, she drifted off.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Fuck…" Clarice muttered as she heard the alarm go off. She rolled over in bed, slapping her alarm clock. She hated the annoying buzzing sound it made that was ever so close to the buzz she heard in her head when she thought of Hannibal. She threw her covers to the side and got up. She yawned as she made her way to the upstairs bathroom. She quickly got a shower and wrapped a towel around her. She walked into her room, picking out her usual outfit, and changed. As she put her hair back into a pony tail and headed downstairs, she said something to herself about Hannibal. She couldn't believe he'd ever want her and it was more likely, to her at least, that he'd have her for dinner before he ever got into bed with her.  
  
She grabbed her usual things and put them into her bag and headed out the door, grabbing her keys and her wallet. She left the door unlocked. If Lecter came back, she wanted to catch the son of a bitch before he got away. She went to her car, as old and beat up as it was, and got in. She started it up, and noticed a little bundle of yellow roses sitting on the seat beside her. Her stomach churned as she pulled out of the driveway and headed to the station. She didn't notice the car pulling out behind her, or following her either. She pulled into the parking lot at the station and turned the car off. She picked up her bag, and then the flowers. She hurried inside to put them in water. She sat back in her leather chair in her office and stared at the screen on the laptop. She put on her headphones and popped in a tape of her and Lecter at the old hospital in Baltimore. She listened to it for a while before she felt a tap on her shoulder. She ripped off her headphones and spun in the chair, scared half to death. "Who the hell-" she started to say. And then stopped, mid- sentence.  
  
"God DAMNIT Delia! Don't do that!" she said, turning back around.  
  
"See you still haven't found anything on Lecter yet, huh?" he said.  
  
She thought about this for a second.  
  
"No…"she said, surprising herself.  
  
"Oh well… Maybe today'll be different."  
  
"It never is, Delia… They're all leads, they just don't lead to him."  
  
Delia laughed. She patted Clarice on the back and left the room. Clarice sighed, her heart still beating very fast, and put the headphones on again. This time, she clicked on the radio. She lightly bobbed her head to the music. "You've Got Mail." Appeared on her screen. She clicked on it, 'probably someone from upstairs telling me I've done something wrong again.'. Her eyes widened when she saw the sender. 


	2. Open Door

~Thank you so much for the reviews. You're too kind. And again, I didn't make the characters, I'm not making money, so on, so on, so on. Also I'm introducing a new character this chapter-Maybe two new characters, depending on how deep into the situations this one goes. Also, to tell you all that I already know what the ending will be (many chapters from now), and am telling you, the story is based on a song. You'll see what I mean in the end! ::Laughs:: Well, with that said (and still no money being made), I'll let this continue. TTFN. ~CS~  
  
Clarice stood in the parking lot of the old Baltimore hospital. Her eyes where scanning the area. Her hair was pulled back tightly, although a few strands of lose hair slid across her face as the wind picked up. It was very quiet there. Almost a planned quiet. She had her gun strapped to her belt and her tape recorder in her bag. Her feet where crossed as she stood, the Doctor's file in her hands.  
  
"Hey there, Agent Starling." A male voice said.  
  
She jumped a little as she turned to face the man who'd emailed her.  
  
"Hey Colin." She said.  
  
Colin. The man who'd worked with her on the Lecter case almost all of these twenty years. She hadn't heard from him since he'd left the FBI, for 'unknown reasons', which was around five years ago. He smiled at her and held out a package.  
  
"Is this it?" she asked.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"That's it alright…"  
  
She smiled at him.  
  
"Think it'll help?"  
  
"It might."  
  
The "it" they where referring to was a collection of survelance tapes from several different street cameras around the area, and a few from other states as well. Now they where searching local and US. Something they'd failed to do before, no matter how much she'd offered to. Also, how he'd gotten them she didn't know, but a few files from the post office, which she knew kept records on every letter sent, where also included. They kept the records of the letters, they told her, just in case a bomb was enclosed in someone's mail. Then they could track them down. She didn't see how it would help, since he'd delivered the letter personally as she slept. But she supposed it couldn't hurt either.  
  
"So, you're still on the case huh?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah… It's easier to find a needle in a-"  
  
"Ok enough with the worn out sayings, Starling."  
  
She laughed. She used those a lot. She couldn't help but laugh. She put the package in her bag and looked back at him.  
  
"Thanks… Really, thanks…" she said, "So how's your wife, Aubrey?"  
  
"She's doing ok…" he looked around. He seemed nervous. This didn't flow very well with Clarice. He was never, ever nervous. She felt a dull acid rise in her throat, and swallowed hard. "That's good.." she said in return.  
  
"I better get back to the station… They only let me away for a half hour…" she lied. He didn't seem to notice, like he always had before.  
  
"Alright. See you later, Starling."  
  
And then he was gone. Clarice pushed the feeling of dizziness to the back of her mind. She forced herself to walk to her car. She put the key in and turned it only slightly, so that she could turn on the radio as she opened her bag and got the package out. She slit the top open with her pocketknife, and reached inside. There where the tapes, labeled as promised. And the lists with the dates. And something else. What WAS this thing? A picture of Doctor Lecter, in his cell, her standing to the side, talking to him. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She shoved the picture back in, feeling the acid in her throat rise again, and started her car. She drove like a bat out of hell the whole way back to her home.  
  
She parked her old Mustang about a block away; She couldn't find any other place to park. As she stepped out, being sure to conceal the package in her bag, she noticed why. Her neighbors where back from their vacation, and had parked in her usual spot. As she got closer, something else caught her eye. A black pickup truck, one she didn't recognize, was parked in front of her house. Directly in front of her house. She began to pick up the pace a little, and stopped short, the stray hair flying in front of her face and sticking to her now pale, sweat covered cheeks.  
  
Her hand went to her Colt .45 that was strapped to her side, her thumb cocking the pistol. Her screen door had been propped open, and her main door was hanging wide open as well. However, this didn't disturb her quite as much as what she saw walking out of her house. A vision so beautiful yet so incredibly enraging, she wasn't sure if she should draw her gun or start laughing in relief. The vision stood, put off by her early arrival back at her house. And before she knew it, she was once again staring into the deep maroon eyes of the most wanted man alive. She felt a sharp sting in her chest, and before she knew it, she was laying on the ground, now surrounded by blackness. 


	3. Uninvited

~Usual disclaimers apply. And credit goes to Alanis Morissette, who's song lyrics are in this one. No money to me, so don't get miffed LOL. Enjoy! ~  
  
Clarice Starling woke up late the next day to the sounds of her clock radio. She let her sleep wear off while she listened to the song flow by. She pulled herself out of bed. Today she was thirty four. Two years since she'd last seen Lecter, unless you counted her dreams, which held him in every one of them. Including last night when she'd dreamt about him being in her house when she came home from the station. It seemed very real to her somehow. She walked into the bathroom singing along to the song, thinking, as usual, of the Doctor himself.  
  
"Like, anyone would be, I am flattered by your fascination with me. Like any hot blooded woman, I have simply wanted an object to crave. But you, you're not allowed. You're uninvited. An unfortunate slight."  
  
She got a shower without taking in her surroundings at all, which she usually did. She'd learned to make herself paranoid by force. As she stepped out, she noticed another yellow rose, this time a single one, sitting beside a bottle of Chateau d'Yquem with a tiny note attached. It was a familiar gift now, to her on her birthday, and she shocked herself when it didn't phase her that he had been in her house again. The dream didn't even come back, by this time forgotten. She reached for the note, which simply said "Happy Birthday, Clarice."  
  
The towel now gone, having fallen to the floor. He remembered and risked his ass to give her a gift? Maybe he did think of her as a lover and not just…'STOP IT RIGHT NOW STARLING!' she scolded herself before she could finish the thought. She looked closer at the bottle. It had been, like the other, dated back to her birth year. She smiled, but only a little. She put the rose in a glass of water by the bathroom sink, and picked up the bottle. This time, she'd enjoy the contents. Not hand them over to the FBI, only to have it poured out and then the bottle put in storage. After all, it WAS her birthday.  
  
She decided to leave formal dress out of it, and simply put on a robe and slippers, her wet hair hanging over her shoulders, brushed but still slightly a mess, and took the bottle downstairs. She thought back to those times down near his cell.  
  
'…Do you think it's because I like to look at you, and imagine how good you would taste…Clarice?'  
  
She bit the inside of her lip, without realizing it, drawing blood as her stomach growled. But she wasn't hungry. Not for food, she realized. Maybe, since it was her birthday after all, she'd allow herself to think of him without screaming at, well, herself. 'Or maybe,' she thought as her heart slightly jumped, 'he'll come back to see me himself.' She didn't know yet how bad she needed it. To see him, that is.  
  
The ties on her robe came undone a little, and since Delia was at work, she didn't worry about what she'd say if she saw her like that. Which she usually hated, and Clarice didn't know why. She walked into the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses. She was use to grabbing two, although she didn't need to, or so she thought. She heard the creek of the chair in her living room float through the air. She sat down the bottle and the glasses and tied her robe tightly shut. 'Damnit Delia, why aint you at work yet?' she thought. She left the bottle and the glasses on the table, and walked into the living room. Before she got in sight of the chair, she heard that voice. That low, metallic voice that haunted her in the night. That plagued her like the screaming of the lambs once did, only now it was her plight. And the plight never went away.  
  
"Good morning, Clarice." He said.  
  
"Doctor…"  
  
She forced herself to walk into the living room and saw him sitting there calmly. 'Get your gun, Starling!' she said to herself. But she didn't. She walked further until she could look him in the eyes.  
  
"You look very vibrant this morning Clarice… I noticed you found my little gift for you upstairs."  
  
"Yes I did…Thank you, Doctor…" she said, her voice a low whisper.  
  
He stood as she walked over to him, inches from him.  
  
"I'm sorry about last night Clarice, I hope you don't mind that I put you into bed. I didn't think you'd like me leaving you on the sidewalk. Don't worry, I called into the station and told them that you had gotten ill and wouldn't be able to make it back."  
  
Now she knew why she'd woken up at home. It wasn't a dream.  
  
"It's ok…" she thought about something for a short moment. She looked him in the eyes as she spoke.  
  
"Tell me Doctor…Would you ever say to me, 'Stop, if you loved me you'd stop?'"  
  
This seemed to please him. She'd remembered that night from those two years ago. He didn't say anything. He did much more, which words could never explain. He leaned down and kissed her. She put her arms hesitantly around his shoulders, as she felt his hands on her waist. She now had her answer. And she wouldn't question herself anymore. The last thing she remembered was being carried up the stairs, to her bedroom in his arms. 


	4. Searching a Criminal

~ Usual disclaimers apply. Sorry it's so short, I just wanted to get to the point asap. Thanks for reading this far! ~  
  
Two weeks after her birthday  
  
Clarice Starling of the FBI flopped down into her worn out computer chair. It was hot, the sticky kind of hot, in her office and Clarice was on the edge. She was irritated at the dead end clues, and if one more person spoke to her she'd rip their head off. Just one of those days. Mostly due to the fact that he'd left her without telling her where to find him. True it was two weeks ago, but she was still pissed off.  
  
~Although you're stripped of your duties, I know you wouldn't abandon them..~  
  
Damn him anyway. She wasn't stripped of her duties, and she didn't plan on messing up again. He could have at least told her where to find him. True she'd turn him in, but still, didn't he consider it rude? Pieces of hair fell in to her face and she wiped them away with her oily palm. God she hated the summer, and this was a good reason why. Especially in Virginia, with no goddamn AC.  
  
She was wearing her usual cutoffs although she hated seeing her legs, and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a tight braid that trailed down her back. Aredlia said she'd looked like Lara Croft. Clarice almost slapped her.  
  
She needed to find Hannibal The Cannibal, and she needed to find him now. They where getting restless as was she. She needed some air for Christ sake, it felt like she was suffocating. Random thoughts and memories filtered in and out of her head.  
  
The son of a bitch, who does he think he is?  
  
…Who is your daddy, dear, is he a coal miner, does he stink of the lamp?  
  
Fuck him anyway…  
  
…getting out, getting anywhere, getting all the way to the F..B..I..  
  
The sadistic bastard…  
  
Would you ever say to me, stop, if you loved me you'd stop?  
  
Not in a thousand years asshole…  
  
She shot her head up.  
  
That's it! That's where he is!   
  
The last place she'd look, and the only place secluded enough to be safe. She just didn't want to go there. That goddamn lake house. She calmly dialed in the number to Pearson's office.  
  
"Pearson."  
  
"Mr. Pearson, it's Starling. I think I have a good lead."  
  
"Let's hear it Starling."  
  
"Well sir, I think he might be staying at Krendler's old lake house by the Chesapeake. "  
  
"The last place you saw him?"  
  
"That's right sir." She lied.  
  
"Well Starling, I'll send a few men out-"  
  
"If you don't mind sir," she cut in, "I'd like to go along."  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Sure Starling. I'll send you in first, backup waiting outside. If you take too long, I'll send them in."  
  
She was bait, again.  
  
"Ok sir."  
  
"Get ready Starling, we're sending you out as soon as possible."  
  
"I'll be ready in about five minutes sir."  
  
"Alright."  
  
She hung up and grabbed her bag. If only her instincts weren't so hidden beneath that trapdoor she kept locked inside her mind, she would have stayed away. Because what she'd find at the lake house was far worse than a cannibal. In fact, she wouldn't find a cannibal at all. 


	5. Angel Of Death/Covet

~Usual disclaimers apply. I didn't write the song in here either LOL. This is a lot better written. I was in a hurry with the last one, because the next few chapters are a lot better. Leave it to me to rush to the point. Thanks for reading this so far! You're all wonderful! Oh, and this is a LONG chapter, but only because I want to get to Lecter really soon. So bare with me and read it all the way through! Thanks! C.S.~  
  
Clarice Starling rode in her beat up Mustang. She was beyond mad and didn't know why. Somehow, it was hotter knowing what she'd find, and knowing where she had to go to find it. She hit her steering wheel hard, sinking into the seat. She hated rap, and that's what was on her radio. Or at least, that's what Ardelia Mapp was listening to on her tape player. They'd told her Delia was going with her. A line of the song caught her ear.  
  
"You 'bout to journey into the mind of a psychopath killer, blood spiller, mentality much iller than you could ever imagine in your wildest dreams..."  
  
Clarice looked at the tape player. She growled lowly. Damn right a psychopathic killer… she thought to herself. What a song to hear on the way back to her worst nightmare. Delia turned down the music.  
  
"Clarice, what's wrong with you?"  
  
She didn't respond. Just hit the steering wheel again.  
  
"Dude! Tell me what's up!"  
  
She couldn't. If she did, she'd have to tell her about sleeping with Lecter, and she wasn't prepared for that yet. Although she was sure they'd find out soon enough. They always did.  
  
"Ok, fine." Delia said, and then kept quiet for the rest of the drive. Clarice couldn't have been happier. Ha! That's a laugh! she thought to herself.  
  
They got to the lake house a half hour later. Clarice got out and slammed the door to her car so hard the glass of her window shattered into a million pieces. She didn't show any reaction. Her face had been nothing but calm since she'd woken up and he was gone. She was raging inside, like a river out of control. She walked away from her car, aware of the weird and fear filled faces of the other agents. Clarice cocked her pistol and drew the gun, holding it in both hands firmly. She walked swiftly up to the door and kicked it in. Ahh…What a way to release some anger legally. she said to herself.  
  
"FBI!" she screamed, "COME OUT NOW AND NO ONE WILL HARM YOU! THROW DOWN WHATEVER WEAPONS YOU HAVE!! DO IT NOW!!"  
  
No one was responding. It was cold in there somehow. She walked a little further before the door slammed shut behind her. She jumped and spun around. There was no one there. She turned again, just as quickly.  
  
"COME OUT NOW!!!" she screamed.  
  
She felt the fire raging through her blood. She wasn't in the mood for his mind games. She had something to tell him, and she needed to tell him now.  
  
"DOCTOR LECTER, SHOW YOURSELF NOW!!"  
  
Nothing, only silence. Then a shadow moved, directly in front of her. She aimed swiftly. She saw the glitter of a gun in the shadows. God, she wished she'd worn her bullet proof vest. But like an idiot, she didn't think she'd need it for him. Then, a woman stepped out of the shadows, now visable. Starling's stomach flipped.  
  
"Hello there Clarice. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
Margot Verger. Far worse than her brother, and she was lethal. Margot moved backward, but Clarice stayed rooted to the floor right in front of the door. They'd been looking for her since she'd killed her brother in cold blood. Margot was now in the hall, at least fifty yards away.  
  
"Margot, come with me and you won't get hurt. "  
  
"I'm sorry, but you've interrupted me at something very important. "  
  
"Margot…Listen to me, ok?"  
  
"I was planning your murder."  
  
"Where is Lecter?"  
  
"How the hell should I know?"  
  
"Tell me Margot."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
And then she heard it. The gun went off. She shot in response, just as she had with Evelda Drumgo. Margot went down, and so did Clarice. The shot killed Margot instantly, hitting her right between the eyes. Clarice fell to the floor, her breath catching in her throat as she grabbed her leg. But the wound wasn't at her leg, it was in her lower stomach. Had Margot known? A trickle of blood fell from her mouth.  
  
"No…The baby…" she choked.  
  
She felt pain now. Serious pain that she'd never felt before in her life. The other backup had come in, hearing the shots, but they where too late. Clarice heard Delia from far away, screaming, saying her name, telling her to hang on. She felt herself being lifted and she heard sirens. She fell into a blackness so deep, she didn't think she'd ever want to leave.  
  
Clarice spent the next month in the hospital, getting visits here and there from Delia and some of the other agents. She mostly just stared at the wall and didn't say a word to them. They didn't know she was pregnant, she'd requested it being kept a secret. It wouldn't matter now, anyway. She'd lost the baby. She spent most of her nights crying, wishing she could have told Lecter about the baby before she'd lost it. She knew he hadn't sent Margot to kill her, if he wanted to, he'd do it himself. She didn't even know where to find him, and that's what upset her the most. She was getting out of the hospital today, but even dressed, she laid there. She wasn't in serious condition, but she couldn't go back to work until she was fully recovered. They'd taken the stitches out already, but she knew if she was too active, she'd need them again. Delia walked into the room.  
  
"You ready hun?"  
  
"Yeah…I guess so.." she said, sitting up slowly.  
  
She grabbed the crutches they'd said she'd need to use and put them under her arms, standing to balance herself. She walked fairly quickly considering her current state, especially on crutches, as Delia got her bags.  
  
"I got your mail, too. It's on your table at home."  
  
"Thanks Delia."  
  
"No problem."  
  
As they road home, a song came on the radio, and although she tried to avoid it, her thoughts went right to Lecter. She sang along with the words.  
  
"I took a leaving like I did before. I turned around and I asked for more. And tried not to let him mean a thing, to me. I left my spirit at the chapel door. I sailed around until I lost the war. And you didn't even think to send, a thing. Well I'm alright, alright? I feel alright. I've never been better in my life, yeah. You know the score. Well I'm just fine. I'm fine, I'm feeling fine. A regular sold off valentine yeah. That and nothing more. I hit my head upon your chamber door. And all the marbles rolled on the floor. And all the psychos in the ward, start screaming…Screaming yeah…"  
  
She laughed as she realized the truth. He was making her go crazy. And the crazy part was, that behind that locked door in the back of her mind, she wanted to go crazy. She wanted him to make her crazy. And no matter how much she may fight it, or try to hide it, she thought for a moment she was really in love. She'd been coveting all this time. She hoped Delia didn't notice the big smile on her face. 


	6. Tell him

~Usual Disclaimers apply. All of my next chapters may be just as long as this, so bare with me! This one has more of a sad, sappy kind of feel to it. Not really love, or out of love. Eh, I suck at summing it up. As I said, most of my story is based on either the song in the end of the story, or a song in itself. What can I say? Many songs relate. So read it, okey dokey? C.S.~  
  
Clarice Starling sat at her kitchen table. After about an hour of arguing with Delia that she was fine on her own, she was glad to be alone. At least, not in the company of an FBI agent. A doctor wouldn't hurt… she thought. She sorted through the mail Delia had left her. She'd pulled her tangle of hair back into a bun, many stray pieces falling to frame her face and shoulders. Some of them actually looked as if she had curly hair. She exhaled, the few hairs in her face blowing up and away, then settling back down by her cheeks. She sat back.  
  
She clicked on her stereo, and pushed CD. She hated to admit she liked the music she listened to, especially since most of it pertained to unrequited love, or lost love, or something equally as depressing. It usually didn't bother her, but now… Now she wasn't so sure if she could take it. Still, she flipped to CD six, and pushed number two. She heard the beat start, then the words flow over her. She closed her eyes for a second, and turned the volume up two notches. Delia had gone back to work, so she didn't need to worry about a pounding knock on the wall. She listened to the words, forcing every other thought but one from her head. As she listened to the words and tears of fury and pain ran down her cheeks.  
  
She threw the remote across the room, it hit the wall and broke in half. Her head fell into her hands as she started to cry harder. What was wrong with her? She was suppose to be so strong. She'd finally cracked herself into pieces. Always holding everyone else up put all the weight on her. She cried as she heard the words to the song.  
  
1  
  
When the rain's blowing in your face  
  
And the whole world is on your case  
  
I would offer you a warm embrace  
  
To make you feel my love  
  
When the evening shadows and the stars appear  
  
And there is no one to dry your tears  
  
I could hold you for a million years  
  
To make you feel my love  
  
I know you haven't made your mind up yet  
  
But I would never do you wrong  
  
We've known it from the moment that we met  
  
There's no doubt in my mind where you belong  
  
I'd go hungry  
  
I'd go black and blue  
  
I'd go crawling down the avenue  
  
There aint nothing that I wouldn't do  
  
To make you feel my love  
  
Storms are raging on a rolling sea  
  
Down the highway of regret  
  
The winds of change are blowing wild and free  
  
But you aint seen nothing like me  
  
There aint nothing that I wouldn't do  
  
Go to the ends of this Earth for you  
  
Make you happy  
  
Make your dreams come true  
  
To make you feel my  
  
Love  
  
That was all Clarice could stand of this. She got up and painfully turned the stereo off. She went back to the table and sat again, wiping away her tears and reaching for the mail. Her hand grazed over a package. Her heart seemed to hope too much that it was from him. She grabbed it and tore it open. Nevermind the gloves or the letter opener. She knew she wouldn't find him by trying to dissect the letter. She took out an envelope with the same wax seal on it, and her heart jumped. She quickly but carefully opened the envelope, and unfolded the one page letter inside. It read:  
  
Dear Clarice,  
  
I'm incredibly sorry for not sending word to you sooner. I've wanted to see you for a long time. I heard word through the newspapers that you where sent to the hospital. Clarice, I'm worried about you. Please meet me at the coffee shop on the corner, today, at three o'clock. I want to know everything, if you'll let me hear it. Until then.  
  
Love,  
  
Hannibal Lecter M.D.  
  
Clarice's heart skipped again. Love? She re-read the word several times before glancing at the clock. It was five of three! Oh well, he can see me like this… He's seen me in less… she thought, and blushed. She picked up her crutches, which she'd decided on using instead of taking an hour to walk to the corner, and slipped on her shoes. She left the door unlocked as she left, so she wouldn't have to bother with keys AND crutches when she got home. She started on the slow, painful walk to the coffee shop. She kept her eyes on the ground below her as she walked.  
  
When she finally got to the place, she looked in the window at him, sitting calmly in a corner booth. Seeing him again was like a breath of fresh air for her. She noticed she just wanted him to hold her. Forget the talking part, she just needed to be near him. She went inside, not aware of the new tears falling from her cheeks onto damp pools on her shirt.  
  
He didn't see her until she was directly in front of him. As he did, there was a shift from calm to genuine hurt and worry in his deep maroon eyes. He stood, taking her into his arms and supporting her weight with his body. The crutches fell to the floor and she put her arms around him, suddenly very calm. She was still crying, but now out of relief and just being happy to see him. It almost made her forget about the news about the baby. The baby! I have to tell him…. She suddenly pulled away, lowering herself into the seat. He sat across from her, and she didn't waste any time. She spoke first, avoiding his eyes, looking at the table.  
  
" Hannibal, about two weeks after you left, I found out I was pregnant. I didn't tell anyone, because well, you know. And I was sent to the lake house to find you, I thought you'd be there, and I needed to tell you. Well when I went I found Margot Verger, and she got a shot in right before I shot at her. She died and so did the baby. I'm sorry, I never meant for it to happen…"  
  
She was crying again, breaking her words into halves of painful news to his ears. She finally forced herself to look at him. She didn't expect what she saw in his eyes. She saw pain. Real, true, readable pain. He was hurt, and she knew it.  
  
"I'm sorry I let you down…" she said.  
  
"You didn't let me down…You haven't done anything wrong, Clarice. I don't love you any less."  
  
She could hear her breath catch in her throat, and she wondered if he'd heard it as well. He took her hand in his own.  
  
"We could always try again…" he said.  
  
Oh she wanted that so bad. But she knew it would be a long time before she could even have psychical contact in that way again. The wound hit her much deeper than she thought it could when she thought of not being able to make love to him. He saw the pain in her eyes.  
  
"No matter how long it takes…" he replied to the look in her eyes.  
  
She smiled. He was here to stay. And nothing could get in their way…Right? 


	7. Missing Phone call/Bad Return

~Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I had to change the story a bit so I wouldn't make you all mad at me. Usual disclaimers apply as always. This is one of those transition chapters, where the character undergoes a dramatic change. Just so you're not confused about her actions. I was feeling very descriptive in this chapter. Tell me if I should keep it this way! With that said, ta ta for now. C.S.~  
  
Clarice Starling was pacing again. Back and forth through her small home, the wooden floors creaking under her heavy footsteps. She was worried, and she wasn't keeping it a secret. She looked at the clock.  
  
Five in the morning and I'm still waiting… she said to herself.  
  
Hannibal had gone back to Buenos Aires yet again, saying it was only the smart thing, and the safe thing, to do. She hadn't argued with him at the time, but now she wished she had. She was almost fully recovered now, and she was back to work again. This, however didn't worry her. It should have, seeing as how she was on the case of Hannibal Lecter, and she was keeping him a secret.  
  
She pressed the cigarette to her lips and drew in a huge puff of smoke into her lungs. She held it there for a while, looking at the phone, and then let it out slowly, the smoke making small circles around her lips and hair. She'd only recently picked up the habit, one which she hated almost as much as not being able to see Hannibal. It was also a secret habit, this smoking thing she was on. She didn't understand why it calmed her down, or why she'd decided to go to the store and buy the carton, but she knew she wasn't stopping anytime soon.  
  
She only smoked three a day, in order to make it easier for her to breathe while running the Yellow Brick Road out in the woods at the FBI. She looked at the clock yet again, her eyes red and sleepless, burning in the rising sunlight.  
  
Five after five…  
  
She was waiting for a phone call from Hannibal, as he'd promised he'd call her every night. The past two nights, she hadn't heard from him. Which also meant, she hadn't slept at all. She took one last drag off the cigarette and smashed it out in the ashtray in her kitchen, quickly making sure she dumped it out and washed it, storing it neatly away in the bottom drawer under the sink. She'd be damned if she was going to let Delia find it one night when she decided to come over unannounced through the adjoining door. She made her way upstairs and threw off her clothes, turning on the cold water in her shower. She stepped in, not even making a face as the freezing water hit her head and back. She didn't even notice it, really, and it only freshened her up to the point of semi- zombie woman. She ran some Kiwi Lime shampoo through her hair, scrubbing it in to get the smoky smell out. She repeated this at least three times.  
  
She took the soap and absentmindedly scrubbed her skin until it turned red, staining the smell of Apple onto her skin. She let the water rinse it away in its own time, and then stepped out of the shower, only half drying herself off. She ran the towel through her hair, just enough to make it stop dripping onto her back, and pulled it up with a black rubber band high on her head. She didn't bother to brush it at all. She brushed her teeth in all of twenty seconds, only giving the mouthwash at least three. She wiped her mouth on her arm, and put on her panties, black tank top, and black army cargo pants. God, she looked like the living dead. She looked to her perfume and decided against it. The deodorant was a must, although she didn't want it. She didn't like any smell that made her stand out. Not now, anyway. She wondered how long it would take the men (and women) at the station to recognize her today. They should be use to it, she mused, I wear black when I feel like shit.  
  
She didn't dwell over why he hadn't called. She tried her best not to think about him at all, but it was hard when you went to work in the morning and saw his picture on every single wall, desk, poster, computer, and God knows what else.  
  
She sighed and looked at the clock yet again. It was now six thirty. Time to go to work, oh joy, she thought. She jogged downstairs and put on her belt, locking the .45s into place. She remembered a line from a movie she'd watched on HBO that night. She said it outloud to herself.  
  
"What kind of an asshole would keep a loaded gun in the house?"  
  
What was the name of it? She thought. Oh yeah, Foxfire. A good movie on her list, but one she could only watch once, or she'd cry the second time.  
  
Two stars for Angelina Jolie… she thought to herself yet again, remembering the time Delia had said she looked like Lara Croft, and smiled.  
  
She walked into the kitchen, only grabbing a doughnut covered in sugar, and a thermos of coffee, black. She put her bag around her shoulder, the doughnut in her mouth, and headed for her car.  
  
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  
  
(At the FBI)  
  
Clarice walked through the doors, wiping the last remaining grains of her so-called "Breakfast" from the corners of her mouth. She hated walking down all these steps, but was glad she could even walk after her minor encounter with, as they liked to call Margot, "The Shrew". She ignored the worried, and offensive glances of the other agents, and headed for her "Hannibal House." It was funny how everything at the FBI, including the FBI itself, had a nickname. She wondered what hers was when she wasn't paying attention.  
  
She amused herself thinking of all the possibilities, not knowing one of them was the correct one.  
  
Hannibal Whore, Princess Bitch, Slutty Starling, Over The Moon…  
  
She walked through the black curtain of her "office" and stopped dead. It had been raided, or so it looked like. Everything was trashed, and there was red pain, or what she hoped was red pain, all over the walls. The pictures of Lecter where torn in half, her files thrown all over the place, her computer on the floor, no doubt broken. She read the painted words.  
  
"Whore, slut, bitch, Mrs. Lecter, cry baby, murderer…" and a few others we can't name. She felt a scream of anger rise up in her throat as she let her bag fall to the floor. Tears stung her eyes.  
  
"Who the hell did this!" she yelled.  
  
Delia came running, as usual, followed by a few other agents. Delia shook her head, along with her sidekick mules, and put a hand around Clarice's shoulder.  
  
"Common, I'll get someone to clean this up."  
  
Clarice let herself be lead out of the room by Delia, who picked up her back along the way. They headed for Delia's office. Clarice didn't look to the sides of her, although later on, she would be wishing she had, or she would have noticed Pearson in the back, smiling at her. 


	8. What Dreams May Come

~Usual disclaimers apply. C.S.~  
  
(LATER THAT NIGHT.)  
  
Clarice Starling had had enough. She'd decided to take some sleeping pills. She needed to rest, after all, and couldn't do so on her own. She would regret this in the morning.  
  
Clarice rolled over violently in bed. The little beads of sweat that had formed on her face and body where now full out drops, slipping down her sticky skin and soaking her gray night shirt and gray shorts. Her hair was matted down to her head, the sweat making it dark around her hair and neck line. She thrashed out her arms, her hands making fists, grabbing nothing but the hot night air. She kicked rapidly, the thin sheet she'd used as a cover falling to the floor. Her breath came in short hitches, fast and desperate. She looked as if she'd been running for hours on end. Her skin was very pale, and she looked like a disturbed ghost in its grave. Her eyes moved quickly under their closed lids, tears flowing non stop from under them.  
  
Running…Seeing Hannibal, trying to run to him…She can't get to him as she sees an agent, Delia, raise her gun. She screamed.  
  
This scream is vocalized through her rapid nightmare and into the darkness of her bedroom. She punches at the air, and flips herself over once more.  
  
She sees Delia fire, Hannibal falling in slow motion. She falls, landing on his body. She is covered in blood. She hears screaming, at first human. Then, the screaming of the lambs. Millions of them, all dead, surrounding her, their blood soaking through her. She is screaming, Hannibal is fading. He is asking her why she didn't save him. Telling her she doesn't love him. The lambs screams grow louder and louder as do hers.  
  
She is screaming.  
  
"NO! NO!"  
  
She hears his voice telling her to wake up, telling her it's ok. She thrashes out and grabs hold of him, gripping him and holding on for dear life. He is right next to her in bed, yet she feels no arms around her. No voice, no comforting warmth of his body. She is awake now, holding onto him. She is so afraid to open her eyes. Why isn't he warm? Her eyes fling open. She is gripping onto her body pillow, not the body of her lover. She cries an utter sound of disappointment and relief. She slams her fist into the pillow. She still feels quite sleepy. Her vision is blurry, and she feels dizzy. She swings her feet over the edge of the bed, and stands. Her legs shake and she sways a little before waking up totally. She stood in shock as she stared at the chair across from her bed. She forced herself to speak.  
  
"Hannibal!"  
  
"Shhh, Clarice…We wouldn't want your friend Miss Mapp to come over, would we?"  
  
She shook her head before asking the question.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"You don't think I could stay away long, did you? What other reason might I have for not contacting you?"  
  
She nodded. He was right, as usual. She finally found herself and almost charged at him, sitting on his lap, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. After a moment, he pulled back, laughing a little.  
  
"I see you've recovered since-"  
  
His eyebrows raised as she silenced him by kissing him again. After a couple minutes, it was she who pulled back.  
  
"I thought you where dead…" she said breathlessly into his lips.  
  
He put his arms around her waist, and did something Clarice had least expected. He lifted her up, and sat her on the bed. Her heart was already pounding from the scenerio she had imagined. What she got was the opposite, which only made her heart pound even more. He kneeled before her, and her eyes widened as she realized he was on one knee. He took from his pocket a small box, and opened it to reveal a rather large diamond ring, which she didn't have to ask about being real.  
  
"My dear Clarice…Will you marry me?"  
  
Clarice felt the tears before she knew they where coming. She nodded her head quickly.  
  
"Yes…Yes!"  
  
Her hand shook as he took it in his, sliding the ring on her finger. She took him in her arms, and her into his. That's when they heard the front door swing open.  
  
"Clarice! You here?! "  
  
Oh FUCK!  
  
Clarice pulled back quickly, almost in a panic.  
  
"Delia…" 


	9. So Long

~Usual disclaimers apply and yadda yadda yadda. I don't own the people nor the song, just the situation. Ta! C.S.~  
  
Clarice Starling was coming out of her panic. She'd come back to her senses, or rather, they had come back to her. She stood, motioning for Hannibal to follow her into the bathroom.  
  
Delia looked up as she heard the foot steps.  
  
"S'at you Clarice?"  
  
"Yeah, it's me Delia." Clarice said from upstairs.  
  
Delia began to walk up the steps. She had news, and she couldn't wait to tell Clarice.  
  
"You'll never believe what happened tonight! Damn, where are you girl?" she said as she walked into Clarice's empty bedroom.  
  
"I'm in here." Clarice said from the bathroom.  
  
"Oh…" Delia walked to the bathroom, opening the door. Clarice was standing with soaking wet hair in a towel. A weird time to take a shower, Delia thought. The shower curtain was closed, and it didn't look wet.  
  
"D'you take a shower?" asked Delia.  
  
"Nah, I just washed my hair. I couldn't sleep again, so I decided to make myself useful. Oh, and I'm wearing a towel because I didn't wanna get my clothes wet."  
  
"Oh, that explains it. Anyway, I wanted to tell you something."  
  
"Yeah?" Clarice said, turning to look at her.  
  
"It's about Lecter. One of our agents saw him a couple miles away from here, they want us to go search."  
  
"Dr. Lecter." Clarice corrected.  
  
Delia waved away the matter with her hands, "Whatever. So get ready ok?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What? Clarice what's up with-"  
  
"I said…No."  
  
"Clarice, the guy is a fucking cannibal, he deserves whatever the hell he gets."  
  
Clarice made her best attempt not to punch Delia. She hated it when Delia slammed on Hannibal. It was really rude.  
  
The curtain to the shower slid open, as well as the diameter of Delia's eyes.  
  
"It's Doctor Lecter, Agent Mapp, and I think you ought to listen to Clarice. It's very rude, you know, and I hate rude people."  
  
Delia cocked her pistol and drew the .45 from her belt, aiming it at his head.  
  
Clarice threw the towel off, revealing her gray shirt and shorts, and a Harpy in her hand. She held it up at Delia.  
  
"Clarice, what the fuck is wrong with you!"  
  
"No one fucks with my happiness."  
  
Delia didn't shake, she had the gun after all. What she didn't expect, or see coming, was Clarice's fist, directly to her face. The gun fell out of her hands, and she fell, grabbing her cheek. She landed with a hard crack on the floor. Damn, Clarice was stronger than she thought. Clarice grabbed the gun and handed the Harpy to Hannibal. He stepped out of the bathtub and stood beside Clarice.  
  
"Check her." Said Clarice, aiming the gun sternly at her ex- best friend and roommate Delia.  
  
Hannibal checked Delia for other weapons, or any wires she might be wearing. Then, he pulled her up harshly and held her, her back against his chest, the Harpy firmly at her neck.  
  
"Now, " said Clarice, "A quick Quid Pro Quo session is in order."  
  
Clarice was talking very differently from her normal Virginian don't-give-a- fuck attitude. She was actually defending a madman!  
  
"A what?" Delia asked shakily.  
  
"Question and answer, Agent Mapp." Said Hannibal in her ear, his metallic voice breaking down one of the many hardened bad ass barriers around the core of her courage.  
  
"So tell me, did you know he was here?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"How?"  
  
Delia, foolishly, spit at Clarice. Oh how they run to the other side when a big paycheck and/or reward is in order, Clarice thought annoyed.  
  
Hannibal pressed on the Harpy slightly, its sharp blade piercing her skin without any trouble, a small droplet of blood forming and running down her neck smoothly. She let out something that could pass for a squeal of fright.  
  
"Ok! I saw him come in. And I heard him talking, through the walls."  
  
"Did you tell anyone else about him being here?"  
  
She hesitated. A sure sign of a liar.  
  
"No…"  
  
"Don't lie to me, or I'll know." Clarice said, her voice now the same low tone Hannibal's had once been down in the dungeon at Baltimore. He smiled inside, hearing her repeat the words he'd once said to her.  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"How long do we have?"  
  
"About ten minutes…I called them right before I came over."  
  
"Thank you, Delia. Thank you… You've been a very big help to us so far." Clarice said.  
  
"Another alibi to write…" Delia said under her breath.  
  
"Oh no, Delia. You see, when I start something, I finish it." Clarice said, her eyes cold, almost black, looking like lone tombstones in a dense, midnight graveyard. Delia was hit by the sudden realization that she wasn't getting out of this alive.  
  
She saw Clarice motion something to Hannibal, and with that, Delia felt the blade slice through her skin. She heard the skin rip, felt the slash of pain, felt the blood flow from her neck. Her hands swung up to it as he pushed her down. She knew she would die, and she knew it would be somewhat slow and very painful. The acute, raging pain in her neck made her cry out several times as she lay on the floor. She couldn't breathe, she noticed. She tried, but failed horribly, only making raspy choking sounds, bubbles of blood forming at the corners of her mouth, making tiny streams down her chin to mix with the blood on her neck, the puddle now forming on the floor, and her shirt. Her vision was black now, she couldn't see although her eyes where open and fluttering hopelessly, and could barely hear a thing. But she made out one distinct sound. The sound of a gun going off, and the jab of pain in her back, right before she let go of her life, and gave it over to the darkness she knew she'd never come back from again.  
  
Clarice lowered the gun as Hannibal wiped off the blade of the Harpy onto Delia's shirt. Clarice made her way to her room, in order to pack so they could leave as soon as possible. Hannibal grabbed her hand, his Harpy safely put away in his coat pocket.  
  
"No. There isn't any time, Clarice, we have to leave as soon as we can. Which, in my opinion, is right now."  
  
"But what about my clothes? I'll need them-"  
  
"I'll get you more clothing once we're safely out of harm. Don't worry, Clarice."  
  
She nodded and retrieved a metal box from her dresser. Inside where all the letters from Hannibal, all the tapes of their conversations, including his and Barney's, and her cigarettes and lighter. She'd added her perfume to it, and the ring box. She kept the ring on her finger. There was no way it would ever leave it.  
  
"Now, I'm ready."  
  
Hannibal smiled and, his hand in Clarice's, they somewhat jogged downstairs and out the front door. He'd made sure not to leave any fingerprints, obviously. They both climbed into his truck, him driving, and sped off into the night, only now hearing the very distant sound of sirens.  
  
~There will only be one more chapter to this story. BUT, I can tell you all now, it's not the end. There will be a sequel posted on here after it. So, whatever mean things you'll think about me after the next chapter, DON'T. The story will live on. C.S.~ 


	10. Waking Up

~Usual disclaimers apply. Well, this is it. The final chapter to this portion of the story. All I can say is, you'll be mad. BUT, the sequel will compensate for why I've done what I've done. So read on, dear ones, and remember- I'm a twisted girl.~  
  
Clarice Starling sat beside Doctor Hannibal Lecter on the first airplane out of the country. They where going to London for a while, but moving on to Rome as soon as they could. Hannibal rested peacefully in the seat, catching a much needed rest. They where hand in hand at the moment, her head resting on his shoulder. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time. But time, as it was soon to be discovered, could be very brutal.  
  
Clarice felt something brush up against the back of her head. She moved to turn around, but a voice caught her off guard.  
  
"Don't move, Starling."  
  
It was the voice of Pearson. Her eyes widened slightly.  
  
"Stand up." He ordered from behind.  
  
She stood, and was immediately thrown to the floor of the plane. She cried out.  
  
"Hannibal!"  
  
His eyes snapped open, only to stare down the cold barrel of a .45. Clarice scrambled to get to her feet, but she realized she was being held down.  
  
"Get off me!" she yelled, and tried to kick. Her feet where held down as well.  
  
The walls of the plane started morphing oddly into thick white walls. She couldn't get up as she heard his scream. It sounded so inhumane, that she wondered if it weren't a…  
  
Lamb… she said to herself, almost involuntarily. She heard a few gunshots, and people screaming. She saw blood spatter, almost like firecrackers against the thick white walls. Why did they seem so familiar? She felt a tiny pinch in her arm, and wiggled under the feeling. Her head started to get foggy, and then clear up instantly.  
  
Clarice blinked. The walls where those of Seclusion, something she was use to. She was held down by forceful hands, which belonged to her roommate, Angela.  
  
"Shh! Honey, it's ok. It was only a dream, it's all ok."  
  
Clarice nodded. The dream had been so real, so intense.  
  
Why hadn't it been?  
  
She sat up with the help of Angela, looking around. The same old hospital room she was so use to after these past years surrounded her instead of Hannibal Lecter.  
  
She had been checked into the mental institution in Baltimore after she'd had a panic attack a few years before, after her incident with Hannibal in the lake house.  
  
Her career was more or less shot down anyway, and she needed a "rest". Delia had taken her on her own will. She had no doubt that if Hannibal was still around, he knew about her little voyage into the land of the crazy. She knew she wasn't crazy, she just needed some place to get her so-called obsession in order. Or, to more or less figure out her place in life.  
  
"Breakfast is ready honey, want me to walk you to the caff?"  
  
"Sure, Angela. "  
  
"Oh, you got mail today."  
  
Clarice's heart skipped, although she knew there wasn't a reason to have hope at all.  
  
"Who's it from?"  
  
"Your brother, Julian."  
  
Clarice nodded. He'd started to care enough to become involved with her life ever since her tabloid "Emotional Breakdown thanks to Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter."  
  
No one, not even Hannibal, knew she had a brother. She never really thought about it herself.  
  
"I love this song." Said Angela, walking over to the radio and turning it up. It was an oldie but a goodie, and Clarice smiled sadly at the words. She sang along slightly.  
  
"Build me up, buttercup, don't break me heart."  
  
Clarice smiled as Angela pulled her up and started dancing with her. As she spun, she turned to look out the window. Her eye was caught by a black pickup truck parked in the lot three floors down. There was someone inside, probably a new patient or a visitor. But Clarice couldn't push the familiarity away from the back of her mind.  
  
She sighed. She knew she'd be free someday, hopefully someday soon, and she'd just have to ride it out. Clarice Starling never quit at anything, and this was an obligation. She was saving another lamb, only this time, that lamb was her.  
  
~FIN. I know, it sucks that it wasn't real. But hey, on to the SEQUEL, right? After all, I know we're all dying to see when and HOW Clarice gets out of the hospital. And if she'll ever see the GD again. Until that time, dear ones, be patient. No pun intended. Oh, and pleasant DREAMS, by the way. ::evil smile::. C.S.~ 


End file.
